I'll Lead You to Salvation
by MissZatanna
Summary: "He remembers how it felt like his world had possibly broken into a million pieces when Joly could barely find her pulse. He thinks of how it hurt to see her hurt." Enjonine oneshot because I am obsessed and can't stop. [Rated T for mild violence]


**A/N**: Ah, I have now had my daily dose of Enjonine. (It's an absolute necessity.) I don't know what brought me to this one... I was looking at drabble prompts on Tumblr and something about scars crossed the screen. I hope you guys enjoy this; I really enjoyed writing it!

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><p>Her scars are no secret to him. It's not as if Thenardier is known for his kindness. Too many times had Enjolras noticed the man's daughter arriving at the Musain with another bruise marring her tan skin. She would cover it up, of course, staying in the shadows of the cafe, watching observantly and never attracting any unwanted attention to herself—save that of Marius's. Eventually the bruises would fade and the pain would become a distant memory for her.<p>

He had never said anything, thinking it was not his place to meddle in her life. But wasn't this what he was fighting for? A new day for those on the streets, a new age of equality and an end to the oppression his beloved Patria had faced for so long. It wasn't until later in the night he realized that to create the larger picture, you must first start off with the small.

Eponine sleeps on her stomach, something Enjolras will never understand. She claims it's comfortable. He acquiesces softly in reply. But he knows that that isn't the case. She sleeps on her stomach to keep the pressure off of the bruises and markings on her back. The fairly recent lacerations are slow to heal. The fact that she does not listen to him at all when he says she needs to rest is a considerable factor. Sometimes he really does hate her independence.

The early morning light shines dimly through Enjolras's sheer curtains across the room. He turns his head to find dark brown hair strewn across the pillows. Eponine's eyes move behind their lids as her gentle breathing almost lulls Enjolras back to sleep. But he can't stop looking at her. Her face, so peaceful and calm, reminds him of angels, for surely, this is what they must look like.

He turns on his side just enough for the rickety bed frame to squeak in protest of his movements. For a moment he holds his breath, freezing in his current position while Eponine stirs quietly. She doesn't wake, thank goodness, but just turns her head so it is facing the other way, remaining on her stomach. She pulls the pillow in closer to her, substituting it for Enjolras's chest.

Her bare back faces him and he can't help but stare at her wounds. His mind flashes back to when he found her. Thenardier was feeling extra generous in his torture of her that night. With Montparnasse at hand, he had two of his henchmen hold his daughter down by the arms, facing away from him. Ignorant of her whimpers, he let the belt fall onto her skin, eliciting a cry from her mouth. She hadn't made enough money that night and her father wasn't going to take any excuses.

But one hit wasn't enough. Feeling satisfaction runs through his veins, he whipped her twice more. The dress on her back did nothing to shield her from the pain and tearing of her skin. A slap across the face and a kick in the stomach for good measure, Thenardier had left Eponine in the street, happy that she had learnt her lesson for the night.

Enjolras had found her like that: crumpled into a ball on the cobblestone street, surrounded by a puddle of blood and covered in filth. He had rushed over, his heart frantic in his chest. He couldn't leave her here and he certainly would not dare bring her back to her parents' inn. As careful as he could manage, he cradled her in his arms, his heart breaking at the sound of her half-conscious whimpers, for their position surely irritated her wounds, and carried her to his apartment.

That was a few days ago. And on this fourth morning of Eponine's staying with him, he can't be more sure about anything than this: he loves this girl. He remembers how his heart fluttered whenever he spotted her at the cafe Musain trailing behind Marius; how his breath caught in his throat one night when she surprised him by her breath on the back of his neck, looking over his shoulder to study his plans and strategies. He remembers how it felt like his world had possibly broken into a million pieces when Joly could barely find her pulse. He thinks of how it hurt to see her hurt.

Her scars are a wonder to him. She's so strong and independent. She's smart and beautiful, and he loves her. His fingers trail against the darkening scars with feather-light touches. She stirs a little, a quiet hum coming from her lips. He scoots forward and presses his lips to her shoulder gently. She turns her head back around to face him but keeps her eyes closed. He knows that she is awake but continues. His hand comes up to cup her cheek, letting his thumb run across the apple softly. He pushes some hair out of her face and behind her ear, admiring the slight twitch of the corners of her lips.

He presses a soft kiss to her forehead and she nestles into his touch. Enjolras whispers seriously and gently, "I'm going to take care of you now."

And she answers, "okay."


End file.
